There’s something about the way heat clings to a woman who’s risen from fire and filth. Something savage. Something sacred.

I didn’t walk out of the woods that night, sugar. I crawled.

Naked knees in the mud. Thighs smeared with earth and ash. Hair tangled like ivy and red as the coals still smoking behind me. There was a ring of fire where I once stood—and now I’m here, in front of you.

You don’t have to say it. I know what you see.

You see a good girl gone all the way bad. You see scraped skin and scorched desire. You see lips that don’t ask for forgiveness. They devour your sins.

But I wasn’t made to beg, baby. I was made to be worshipped.

And you? You were made to kneel. Don’t fight it. Not here—not in my woods.

The daisy field might look sweet, but underneath? It’s damp with sweat and secrets. The roots twist like fingers. The air’s thick with sex. Every flower watches you now, as I spread my legs in the dirt and beckon you closer.

There’s firelight on my skin. There’s soot on my thighs. There’s a growl in my voice that says come here and lose your name.

And oh, sugar… you’re already crawling.

You smell the smoke on me. The ache. The hours I spent on my hands and knees, letting the earth claim me, letting my body remember what it was like to be wild.

Now I want you to remember too.

Remember what it’s like to be filthy. To forget the rules. To fuck the guilt out of your mouth and taste nothing but my ruin on your tongue.

Let me teach you.

Let me ride you like a myth told under full moons.

Let me call you mine with the press of my hips and the bite of my nails.

Because this isn’t just sex, baby. It’s worship. And you’re not just hard—you’re devoted.

I’ll moan for you in tones older than language. I’ll squeeze around you like the last heat of the dying sun. I’ll make you forget what it means to ever be clean again.

Because once you’ve tasted dirt-drenched Cassidy, you’ll never crave soap and silk again.

You’ll dream of the burn. Of the sting. Of the scent of me soaked in sin and satisfaction.

You’ll wake up with scratches down your chest and a prayer half-muttered on your lips.

And when you come crawling back—because baby, you will—I’ll still be here.

On my knees. In my field. Wearing the fire like a halo.

So come worship at my thighs. Offer me your tongue, your hunger, your trembling devotion. And I’ll give you something you’ll never forget:

The night you knelt for the goddess in the dirt—and called it paradise.

Filthy knees and drippy holes,

~ Cassidy

888.750.4746 ext 858

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